Harry Potter and the Wizarding Conspiracy
by Man With The Raven Hair
Summary: The notorious serial killer Sirius Black is on the rise in this drama-and-romance-filled mystery about a wizarding conspiracy. One thing, however, is certain: the Boy Who Lived's third year at Hogwarts will be his most difficult yet.
1. Chapter 1:  Breakfast At Number Four

The roof of number four, Privet Drive shivered under the onslaught of the outside storm.

At home in his bed, the Boy Who Lived shivered under his blanket and top sheet.

Harry Potter's bright green orbs shimmered in the half-light as they looked determinedly in every direction but his second-floor window. His strategy for keeping his mind off of the driving wind and rain was, however, completely ineffective. Each flash of lightning drove splinters of light directly through his meager curtains, casting blinking shadows around the room and illuminating Hedwig's large amber eyes momentarily. Hedwig herself had been ill at ease all night; her anxious shuffling about in her cage had helped keep Harry awake. A particularly loud peal of thunder hammered against the ceiling, startling Hedwig into a cry of alarm. Not one to be outdone by any manner of earthly noise, Harry's uncle's voice returned fire against Harry's bedroom floor.

"THAT RUDDY OWL! IF IT CAN'T BE KEPT QUIET, IT'LL HAVE TO GO, BOY!"

Harry sighed. Yes, that was his uncle's way: if anything even remotely connected with Harry did any noticeable amount of anything ever, it would have to go. And sometimes, when he managed to remember, Uncle Vernon held true to his threats. Only just the other day Harry had left a pencil on the dining room table and his uncle had accidentally picked up the writing implement instead of his fork. The ensuing discussion between Uncle Vernon and Harry had left the Boy Who Lived covered in spittle and set his ears ringing for hours to come. The pencil, incidentally, had never been seen again. Harry passed a hand through Hedwig's cage and caressed her snowy head to help calm her down. Without her he would be stuck in this bleak prison all by himself.

The clock beside the cage on his bedside table read 2:04. Harry had been thirteen for two hours now, though it didn't matter very much. Birthdays at the Dursley's were largely ignored unless they weren't Harry's birthdays. Sometimes Harry wished he could have been considered "normal" enough to qualify for an actual party or two, but then he remembered that he didn't need birthday parties for, you see, Harry Potter was no ordinary child. Harry Potter was a wizard. To be precise, Harry Potter was a wizard-in-training who was still attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, although he was currently home(such as it was) for the summer holidays.

Harry withdrew his hand from his owl and pushed himself into a sitting position. His feet scraped against a handful of magical educational materials that had been hastily deposited at his bedside to be thrust under his bed at the slightest sign of any of the Dursleys' arrival. Harry took a moment to review the cover of "Hogwarts, A History", realized that that was probably the only thing in the book that he would ever actually read, and kicked it back under his bed with his heel. The wooden floor of his bedroom felt cold to his bare feet. A sudden tapping at the window made Harry jump in momentary fright. His uncle wasn't too far behind.

"THAT BLOODY WINDOW! IF IT CAN'T BE KEPT QUIET, IT'LL HAVE TO GO, BOY!"

Harry chalked his uncle's apoplectic attitude up to a lack of sleep. How anyone could even doze in weather this violent was beyond Harry, and he knew that if his Uncle Vernon liked anything it was most definitely a decent night's sleep. Harry strode to the window and pulled aside the curtains to check what it was and discovered a handful of waterlogged owls all bearing equally waterlogged parcels sitting on the outside windowsill. Harry undid the catch and watched in alarm as the gaggle of owls noisily poured in through the small opening. Fortunately, however, the loudest of their squawks coincided with a particularly loud thunderclap, and Uncle Vernon made no attempt to berate Harry for for failing to prevent his window from hooting noisily.

Harry removed all the packages from their respective deliverers and set out some old clothes of Dudley's for the owls to dry themselves on. The first package was aptly labeled "To Harry Potter" and even through the rain-splattered brown paper it was clear that the untidy scrawl belonged to none other than Ronald Weasley. Harry tore open the wrappings and what appeared to be a small, glass top fell into his open hand. Harry spent the next ten minutes deciphering the note tied to its axis:

"_Dear Harry,_

_Shame you couldn't have come with us. Egypt was amazing! Picked this up in a gift shop on our way out, thought you might find it_  
><em>useful. It's a Pocket Sneakoscope. Lights up and makes this really shrill whistling noise if it detects anything fishy going on. Don't let<em>  
><em>the Muggles keep you down, mate!<em>

_From, Ron_  
><em>P.S. Mum says you're looking too thin. I know, honestly!<em>"

Harry smiled, but quickly jammed the Sneakoscope in his dresser drawer between several pairs of Dudley's old pants. On any other night if he were up and about when he wasn't supposed to be, he would end up in no small amount of trouble- and who knows what Uncle Vernon would blame the whistling on and attempt to throw out. The next package yielded a broomstick servicing kit from Hermione that looked absolutely amazing. Even though his prized Nimbus 2001 model broomstick was currently stowed in the cupboard under the stairs with most of his other school things, Harry cracked open the manual and skimmed through it out of excitement before turning to the final, lumpy package. It was a cake from Hagrid. Harry wasn't sure whether or not it had been edible to begin with, since it was clearly soaked through from the storm. He deposited it in his waste bin, just in case. The final owl had only brought a letter, bearing a large insignia of the letter H.

Harry checked the list of required books for the upcoming term and was relieved to find that a certain dazzlingly handsome ex-professor's literary works were nowhere to be seen. Also worth celebrating, in Harry's opinion, was a small paper permission form for admission to Hogsmeade. Of course, acquiring his uncle's signature would be a near-impossible task. Harry sighed and turned his attention back to keeping his late night visitors as quiet as he could. Once the owls were sufficiently dry, Harry let them back out into the wind and rain and slid back into his bed. Maybe things would look even brighter in the morning.

* * *

><p>Uncle Vernon eyed Harry warily as he scarfed down his heaving helping of bacon. If there was one thing Uncle Vernon didn't like, it was having to look at Harry while he himself ate his morning bacon. Harry avoided his uncle's piercing, bacon-filled glare until it was drawn away by his Aunt Petunia turning the kitchen television on.<p>

"-recent rash of sightings of notorious serial killer Sirius Black. Black, who was believed to have been killed twelve years ago, is now reported to be at large once again. Wanted for the infamous murder of twelve people in-"

Well. That's depressing, thought Harry, before he tuned the television out and concentrated solely on finishing his porridge. He then hastily excused himself from the kitchen(to his uncle's chagrin) and was halfway through the swinging door when Uncle Vernon cleared his throat noisily. Harry stopped and slowly turned to see what it was that he wanted.

"YOU GOING SOMEWHERE, BOY?" Uncle Vernon demanded as Aunt Petunia slid more slices of bacon onto his plate.

"Just up to my room, Uncle Vernon," Harry said.

"YOU MEAN THE ROOM WE LET YOU STAY IN," corrected Uncle Vernon.

"The very same," said Harry.

"DON'T GET SMART WITH ME, BOY," said Uncle Vernon, spraying bits of bacon across the table. "MY SISTER MARGE IS COMING TO DINNER TONIGHT AND I WON'T TOLERATE ANY OF YOUR BELLIGERENT ATTITUDE WHILE SHE'S HERE."

Harry felt his stomach drop through the floor. "Aunt Marge? Here?"

"GOOD TO KNOW YOU CAN UNDERSTAND ENGLISH AFTER ALL THESE YEARS," said Uncle Vernon nastily. "YES, BOY. HERE. AND YOU HAD BETTER BE ON YOUR BEST BEHAVIOR."

Uncle Vernon appeared to be on the verge of adding something to the tail end of his latest tirade, so Harry again turned to leave as quickly as he could. Fantastic, thought Harry as he hurried out of the kitchen. Maybe he would just stay in his room the entire time and avoid the nightmare altogether. "Aunt" Marge was Uncle Vernon's sister. She was as ill-tempered as Vernon, bred bulldogs, and thought that Dudley was a paragon of humanity. Harry would almost rather spend his holidays at Malfoy Manor than put up with Aunt Marge. Almost. If only there were somewhere else he could go, just to get out of Number Four a bit early...

Halfway up the stairs Harry had a wonderful idea. He leapt up the remaining steps two at a time and began scribbling out a note to Ron as quickly as he could. With any luck the Weasleys would have returned from Egypt by now. Harry rolled up the scrap of parchment, prodded Hedwig awake, and tied it off to her foot. She gave him an irritable nip and took off through his window into the bleary grey sky beyond. Uncle Vernon's car pulled out of the gravel driveway not long after her departure. The remainder of Harry's day was anxiously spent avoiding his cousin and aunt, waiting desperately for Hedwig's return.


	2. Chapter 2: Unwelcome Houseguests

It was, unfortunately, Harry's uncle who returned first. Harry groaned as his uncle's car pulled into the driveway and two very large, beefy people heaved themselves from the front seats. One of them had a mustache and carried a bag under his arm. The other was equally mustached and held a small bulldog under hers. Harry kicked a balled up pair of his old socks across the room in frustration. Where was Hedwig?

"AS I WAS SAYING MARGE, PETUNIA MAKES A WONDERFUL GOULASH."

"I'M SURE IT WILL BE DELICIOUS, VERNON."

Their booming voices easily carried throughout the entire house. Yes, thought Harry, it was easy to believe they were related just by the sound of their voices- but he didn't have time to crack any more jokes at his relations' expense. As panic began to fully set in Harry found himself drawn to the far corner of his little room. No way would he be going downstairs. No way.

"BOY! GET DOWN HERE! WE'VE GOT COMPANY!"

Harry heaved a massive sigh of resignation and was on the verge of turning his bedroom doorknob when there came a loud shriek at his window.

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT THAT BLASTED OWL? I MEAN, UH, TELEVISION! THE BOY IS ALWAYS WATCHING TELEVISION, MARGE, YOU UNDERSTAND."

Harry couldn't care less about anything Uncle Vernon had ever told him about anything, so he promptly let Hedwig in, caressed her snowy head, snatched the rolled up note from her leg, and tore it open eagerly. Aunt Marge was loudly commenting about Harry's worthless layabout ways downstairs, but he didn't care. Any news at all would have drowned out even Vernon's beefy voice.

"Caught us just in time, Harry! Dad says he'll come to pick you up tonight, if that's alright.

-Ron"

Harry froze. Then he re-read Ron's reply just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Tonight? But that must surely mean-

"QUITE RIGHT, MARGE, AND- AAAAAAUGH!"

Harry dashed downstairs to find all of his very distant relations in various states of fear at the sight of a tall, balding, red-haired man stepping out of their fireplace. Arthur Weasley surveyed the muggle home enthusiastically like a small child in a candy store. Spotting Harry on the staircase he gave a jovial little wave.

"Harry! How are you?"

The idea of anyone greeting his nephew with such joviality must surely have been torture to Uncle Vernon.

"WHO THE RUDDY HELL ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?"

Arthur Weasley jumped about a foot.

"There's no need to shout, man, I'm right next to-"

"-he's come to pick me up, Uncle Vernon," Harry interrupted quickly- criticism was not something Uncle Vernon was used to receiving. Vernon's head swiveled mechanically to glare at Harry.

"CAME HERE FOR YOU, EH? COME TO PICK YOU UP, EH? YOU WON'T FOOL ME WITH ANY OF THOSE HALF-BAKED STORIES, BOY! AND YOU-" his head snapped back to Mr. Weasley so fast it even made Harry dizzy. "YOU'RE GOING TO PAY FOR THE FURNITURE CLEANING IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO!"

Arthur Weasley looked a bit taken aback. He scanned the room, smiling and nodding awkwardly towards Dudley, who was cowering in his mother's arms, taking in all the excess ash he'd inadvertently scattered over everything. He grinned apologetically towards Uncle Vernon and made to draw his wand.

"Not to worry, not to worry! I'll have everything right in a jiffy!"

"OH NO YOU DON'T! NO MADMAN IS GOING TO SHOOT UP MY BROTHER'S FAMILY!"

Aunt Marge charged Mr. Weasley and tackled him to the floor. Petunia and Dudley screamed. Vernon roared "DAMN RIGHT, PETUNIA!" and joined the fray himself. Then there was a large explosion and both Marge and Vernon were blasted back. Several picture frames and decorative ceramic vases broke from the shockwave. Mr. Weasley pulled himself up again and dusted off his robes.

"Go get your things, Harry, we're leaving," he ordered. Harry didn't dare disobey; for once Mr. Weasley truly looked like a madman. He raced back up the stairs and tried to ignore the shouts and bangs erupting from the first floor as he crammed his belongings into a spare pillowcase so he could just throw everything in his school trunk still locked in the cupboard under the stairs. He had just about finished when there was a particularly loud explosion and the power went out. He emerged onto the landing to find, fortunately, that the cupboard under the stairs(among other things) had been blasted open. He darted in under the cover of a dust cloud and piled his pillowcase into his trunk. Then, Hedwig and her cage in one hand and the trunk in the other, he moved as carefully as he could back into the living room.

"Harry, go, go!" Mr. Weasley ordered. He threw a pinch of some glittering green powder into the fireplace and Harry ran into the emerald flames that suddenly erupted and shouted "The Burrow!" just as Uncle Vernon popped out from his cover, screamed something incoherent, and fired his shotgun in Harry's general direction. The last thing he saw was Mr. Weasley leaping aside to dodge the gunfire before everything became one green nauseous blur. Then he tumbled out of the fireplace in the Weasley's home.

"Harry!"

Harry looked around, bewildered. It seemed like the entire Weasley family, except for the two eldest brothers, was there waiting for him. Ron helped him to his feet.

"What happened, mate? You're covered in dust," said Ron as he began patting Harry down to get the worst of it off.

"Long story, Ron," replied Harry. "My uncle challenged your dad to a game of get out of my house and it became pretty violent."

Everybody laughed.

"Well, Harry," said Fred and George in unison, "we'll haul this up to Ron's room for you." They grabbed Harry's trunk and, at first, feigned being unable to lift it. Soon though they were gone. Harry pretended not to notice Ginny staring at him the entire time Fred and George were performing. Finally Mrs. Weasley swept up behind him and began ushering him forward into their home. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Harry dear, you look like you could use a decent meal. Come on, supper's nearly finished. Into the kitchen, all of you!"

Harry shot a sideways glance at the Weasley's special clock as he was being gently shoved towards something that smelled delicious and was not entirely unsurprised to find that Mr. Weasley's hand was now pointed to "mortal peril". In fact they were halfway through dinner when Mr. Weasley burst into the kitchen, covered in dust and clutching a stitch in his side.

"How did it go, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley nonchalantly.

"It could have been worse, Molly," said Mr. Weasley. He looked at Harry. "It's a good thing your Uncle's such a horrible shot. And as for that sister of his... I've met dementors who've been kinder than her."

Everybody laughed.

"So what happened then, Mr. Weasley?" asked Harry.

"Well, your Uncle turned tail and retreated once I managed to disarm him," said Mr. Weasley, taking his seat at the head of the table and helping himself to some beef stew. Then he shrugged and added, almost as an afterthought, "Had to blow your Aunt up though."

Harry nearly choked. Everybody else laughed.

"I'm... sorry?"

"Blew 'er up, 'arry. Sorry," said Mr. Weasley thickly, mouth half-full of potato and carrot.

Harry didn't quite know how to feel about this, so he just sat and stared awkwardly. Mrs. Weasley placed a chunk of bread into his gaping mouth and patted him on the shoulder in a motherly fashion. He turned to look at Ron, who wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye and began to explain.

"Dad'll just say a mad house-elf did it. The Ministry did some digging after that incident of yours last year and found that house-elves actually have been known to act sporadically when given conflicting orders from their masters. And as your house set the precedent for house-elf attacks I'm sure they'll overlook this incident. Dad does have some pull at the Ministry, after all."

This was clearly not the explanation Harry had been looking for.

"Relax, Harry, they'll put her right eventually!" Ron reassured him.

Eventually, thought Harry, still avoiding Ginny's constant gaze. He hoped it would be sorted out by the time he had to return for next year's summer holidays.


	3. Chapter 3: The Trio Reunited

Harry spent the next week relaxing at the Burrow and eating extra helpings of all of Mrs. Weasley's fantastic cooking which, he was happy to note, consisted of more than just bacon. This morning's eggs and toast were as good as any Harry had ever eaten, and as Harry scraped strawberry jam onto a hot slice of bread he and Ron were idly discussing returning to school over a game of wizard's chess.

"Who d'you s'pose set the new defense book?" asked Ron as he prodded one of his miniature chess men into position.

"Dunno," said Harry.

"At least it's not that quack Lockhart," said Ron. "Or is it? I dunno, do you think he might've recovered by now?"

"I hope not," said Harry truthfully. Gilderoy Lockhart had been an absolute nightmare to deal with in their previous year, and would probably have left them for dead down in the Chamber of Secrets if the memory charm he'd intended to use on Harry and Ron hadn't backfired disastrously. Harry watched as his knight decimated one of Ron's bishops. Yeah, just like that, thought Harry, pretending the bishop had Lockhart's face. As Ron was scooping bishop Lockhart's remains off of the chess board his Mrs. Weasley walked in and glared at the pair of them accusatorially.

"And what are you two up to?" she demanded with her hands on her hips. Harry got the distinct impression of a coiled snake about to strike.

"Eating breakfast?" asked Ron, shooting Harry a furtive pleading look.

"You had better eat it faster, then! We're going to Diagon Alley in fifteen minutes. Did you forget? It's nearly nine o'clock! Honestly, of all the-" her voice carried downstairs as she climbed the Burrow's several flights to remind her other children. Harry honestly had forgotten they were supposed to be leaving.

"Hey, Harry!" said Ron suddenly.

"Yeah?" replied Harry.

"Hermione!" said Ron, beaming. Harry caught his meaning and smiled back. Hermione was a girl in their year at Hogwarts who they'd be meeting at Diagon Alley when they went to pick up their school things. Ron had the chess set put away in seconds and was waiting patiently for the rest of his family to gather for the trip into London. Fred and George looked a bit surly, as though they hadn't slept properly, and they kept nudging one another and whispering. Mr. Weasley backed his new car into the gravel driveway and everyone admired it as much as they could from the front stoop to avoid getting soaked through and through by the heavy rainfall. Fred and George were quietly protesting against their mother in the back of the group.

"She'll want to know all about Egypt, I reckon," Ron told Harry as Mrs. Weasley began beating the twins over their heads with her umbrella.

* * *

><p>Aside from a running commentary by Mr. Weasley on all the new features his shiny black sports car had that his old Ford Anglia did not, the drive into London was rather uneventful- although Harry could not remember it looking any wetter than it did now. Large torrents of water were rushing through every gutter and pouring out of every sewer entrance like the city was sinking. The moment the car was parked in the Leaky Cauldron's shoddy parking lot, the twins jumped from the back seat and stalked off ahead. Mrs. Weasley exasperatedly gathered the rest of her children and Harry into the old tavern and began to escort them to the brick wall that led to their destination. Harry however became distracted by a wanted poster that looked oddly familiar... Harry jumped in fright as a firm hand was placed on his shoulder.<p>

"Harry, might I have a word?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"Uh. Yeah, okay," said Harry. Mr. Weasley led him around to a small back table and waved off the bartender's curious gaze.

"You've heard about Sirius Black, haven't you, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"I heard about him on the news, yeah. He's a murderer, isn't he sir? But what does he have to do with-" began Harry, but Mr. Weasley interrupted him.

"Harry, Sirius Black was one of You-Know-Who's biggest supporters. What's worse is that he was never caught. I know you and Ron and Hermione all fancy yourselves sleuths, but you've got to promise me, Harry, that you won't try to find this man," he tapped the poster of Sirius Black beside their table, "okay?"

"Alright, Mr. Weasley, whatever you say," said Harry, perplexed about why he'd go hunting for any dangerous uncaptured criminal.

"Good, good!" Mr. Weasley chuckled, ruffling up Harry's hair. "We'd better get back to Molly or she'll think I kidnapped you and forced you to admire the new car. Off we go!"

In no time at all they had caught up with the rest of the group and, true to his assumptions, the first thing Mrs. Weasley did was accuse her husband of getting Harry's private opinion on his new car. Harry laughed along with Ron and Ginny, who was once again staring at him fixedly. They proceeded down Diagon Alley's main boulevard, taking extra care to avoid stepping under any of the streams of water issuing from the awnings scattered everywhere. Harry and Ron split from the main group to go look at the fancy new broomstick models in Quality Quidditch Supplies' window display.

"Harry? Ron?" Harry and Ron both turned to see who it was who had called out to them when something frizzy collided with them and nearly knocked them through the display they had just been examining.

"It is you!" Hermione shrieked, giving first Harry and then Ron massive hugs. Harry noticed that Ron held on a bit longer than Hermione seemed to want, but when they finally broke apart she was blushing. Harry coughed uncomfortably.

"So, uhm, should we pick up our books then?" asked Hermione a bit breathlessly.

"Yeah, I reckon we should," said Ron. Ron made to slip an arm around Hermione's shoulders but she pushed him off.

"How was your summer, Harry?" Hermione changed the subject. Harry grinned.

"Oh, you know the Dursleys, Hermione. Tell her what happened, Ron, I don't think I could do it without bursting into laughter."

As they walked towards Flourish and Blotts Ron casually explained how Mr. Weasley had exploded into the Dursley's living room and dueled Vernon Dursley and his sister to rescue Harry from the last few weeks of his stay there. Hermione turned to look at Harry questioningly and Harry just shrugged. As far as he knew it was all true; he had witnessed Uncle Vernon fire shotgun rounds at Mr. Weasley before he escaped up the chimney.

"Never a dull moment there, right Harry?" said Ron with a grin that Harry returned. His best friend definitely had a point there.

"I think that's horrible," said Hermione. "Why pin the blame on some house-elf?"

"'cause they're always punishing themselves anyway," insisted Ron. "What difference does it make if they get into more trouble?"

Hermione didn't look like she could believe what she was hearing and was on the verge of beginning another argument when Harry spotted a large familiar figure lumbering in their direction. He nudged Hermione and pointed, and together they made a beeline for the massive gamekeeper.

"Oh," hiccuped Hagrid, "'lo, 'arry. 'ermione. Ron. Can' stay, yeh know how it is. I'll see you lot back up at the school."

And with that he lumbered away.

"Did that seem odd to anyone else?" asked Ron.

"I think... has Hagrid been crying?" said Hermione. Harry just shrugged. The trio proceeded to Flourish and Blotts, picked up their school books, and carried them beneath their assorted sweaters to keep them as dry as they could as they met the rest of the Weasley school supplies scouting party at the exit to Diagon Alley. There they bid adieu to Hermione and her dentist parents and set off back towards the Burrow. Maybe London really is sinking, thought Harry. There was, if it was at all possible, even more water flooding the streets outside on the way out than there had been on the way in. Surely the rain had to stop sometime.

"Hey, Harry," whispered one of the twins. Harry leaned over as covertly as he could so that Mrs. Weasley would not catch him fraternizing with her delinquent sons, but it was no use: Mrs. Weasley, possibly reacting to some sixth sense for detecting trouble-making, adjusted the mirror over her front seat to give her a clear view of the back row.

"...tell you later, Harry," said Fred. Or George. Harry straightened back up and tried to enjoy the rest of the dull car ride back to the Burrow as much as he could.


	4. Chapter 4: Your Biggest Fan

The remaining few days at the Burrow passed slowly. Fred and George kept trying to catch Harry on his own, but in such a crowded home holding a private conversation with anybody was next to impossible. Ginny in particular seemed to relish lurking in Harry's shadow, and she would often only leave when Harry asked if he could help her with something(which never failed to send her into fits of awkward blushing). Harry tried asking Ron more than a few times what she was up to, but his best friend would only shrug and say that she'd been infatuated with him ever since last year's incident in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry wished that she would return to smiling politely, but it didn't seem very likely.

In fact, Fred and George didn't get a chance to talk to Harry until the evening before everyone was to leave for King's Cross Station and Platform Nine and Seventy-five Hundredths. The Weasleys were to enjoy a pleasant picnic dinner on a hill not far from the Burrow, and as Ginny was going to be riding in Mr. Weasley's new shiny black sports car the twins seized the moment to force Harry to walk with them. Ron, of course, didn't want to do any walking when he could be riding along comfortably, but Harry had been wondering all week what Fred and George had wanted to tell him so he skipped the brief car trip.

"Look here, you," began Fred. Or George. "What's your fixation with our dearest little sister?"

"I'm sorry?" Harry was absolutely nonplussed. Fred(or George) folded his arms in a way that was clearly supposed to seem incredulous.

"We know you've got a-" The twins quickly glanced at one another, searching for the right word. "-a bit of a 'thing' for Ginny. We don't mind, honestly- imagine being related to the Boy Who Lived and all that. But we want to make sure you're not leading her on, or anything."

"Yeah," piped in George(or Fred), pushing an accusing finger into Harry's chest.

"Well, I'm not. We've hardly spoken since last year, before the summer holidays," Harry protested. "Why has she been following me everywhere? And why does she stare at me whenever we're in the same room? It's... well, it's creepy."

The twins seemed taken aback. They whispered inaudibly to each other for a moment, leaving Harry to sit in bewildered silence.

"So you're not stringing her along, Harry?" George asked. Harry shook his head solemnly. Fred and George looked at one another, then back to Harry, then back to one another, and then back to Harry.

"We think there's something you should see."

The twins led the way up the Burrow's staircase and past Ron's room to a doorway Harry had never been through. "Ginny's room," they explained in unison. Something in Harry's stomach turned, though he couldn't understand why. Fred deftly picked the lock and then they were inside. It was definitely a girl's room, Harry decided. Ginny had a large collection of pillows scattered around her room, with a few stuffed animals here and there between them. George kicked a few of these aside, pulled open her closet, and waved Harry over. Harry obediently stepped forward.

"What-?"

His questions weren't necessary, as it turned out. Fred pushed back the clothes that were in the way and showed Harry what Ginny had built. Harry's face anxiously peered about the room from almost everywhere he looked. Every newspaper clipping that had mentioned his name, every accompanying photograph- even the picture he'd been forced to take with Professor Lockhart at his book signing at Flourish and Blott's, with Lockhart's half of the picture ripped off and some kind of bright red line drawn across the ragged edge to keep Lockhart from stealing Harry's spotlight- tacked to the back wall of her closet. She'd even kept the Magical Me book series that he'd handed to her, though they were stacked one atop the other to form a makeshift shelf on the floor.

The shelf was full of Potter paraphernalia. It seemed like she'd collected anything he'd ever so much as touched- the feather he'd used in his first-year Charms class, one of the Beater's bats he'd handled when Oliver Wood first explained to him what Quidditch was, Neville Longbottom's remembrall, which had first landed him on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team to begin with, and even a broken pair of his glasses he'd thought he'd lost all had prominent places on her Harry Potter shrine. There was even what appeared to be a lock of dark hair in a small plastic bag hanging from the shelf by a narrow strip of tape.

On closer inspection, some of the items had tiny notes with how and when she obtained them and things like "It still smells like him!" attached to them. A small diary filled to the brim with doodles featuring a million variations of "Ginny Potter", half-written love confessions to(and from) Harry, and even baby names for their children rounded out Ginny's obsessive collection. Harry understood Fred and George's concerns all too well now. They probably thought he'd had her worshiping him or something, but this all felt like a massive violation of his privacy. He honestly felt sick.

"We found it by accident while looking for some, er, things of ours we thought Ginny might've nicked," George explained. "We thought you'd got her so wrapped around your little finger that she was worshiping you, or something. I guess this is all news to you too, eh Harry?"

Harry nodded weakly as he watched one of his likenesses cut himself and scribble "RUN" on the wall behind him with his own blood. Fred pulled Harry back and began walking him out of Ginny's room while George carefully placed her pillows where they had been before the intrusion. Harry's escort ran a hand through his hair anxiously.

"This is awkward, isn't it? You feeling okay, Harry?" Harry shook his head; Fred patted him on his back in a brotherly fashion. "No worries, then. We'll say you started throwing up the second everybody else took off and you can just stay here and rest. We'll also try to talk to dad about... about Ginny's closet."

Harry allowed himself to be steered into Ron's room, where he was staying for the time being, and promptly flopped down on the cot that had been set up for him. He felt numb. Ginny had always seemed like such a nice girl. Why did she have a shrine dedicated to him in her closet? While this explained the reasons she was always staring at him and, now that he thought of it, why she began competing with others to pass him things at the dinner table, he just couldn't grasp why she was so obsessed with him. With his appetite for that evening completely destroyed, Harry rolled over and tried to fall asleep before Ron inevitably came tromping in. He dreamt uneasily of a small, red-haired girl watching rest him through a small crack in Ron's door.

* * *

><p>"Harry, wake up! It's time to- oh wow, Harry, you look awful," said Ron. Harry peered up at his best friend blearily and realized that he'd fallen asleep with his glasses still on. Harry sat up and brushed his hair out of his eyes.<p>

"We're leaving in about half an hour, and there's breakfast downstairs if you want it," Ron informed him. Harry nodded his thanks and hastily departed, taking extra care to make sure he wouldn't run into Ron's sister on the narrow stairway. He had a bit of toast and a knowing look from both Fred and George before everyone was being pushed to the front door by a harried-looking Mrs. Weasley, who told Harry that she'd packed his things for him while he was eating since he was feeling too ill to pack the night before. As they all piled into Mr. Weasley's shiny black sports car Fred and George deliberately sat on either side of Harry, much to his relief, and after a few goodbyes through the car window they were off.

Mr. Weasley was driving far faster than was necessary, but he seemed to be enjoying himself and all the obstacles he'd have run down in any ordinary Muggle car just leapt out of his path, but he stopped caring about the drive when he noticed Ginny watching him in the rear-view mirror. Harry couldn't wait to reach the mostly Ginny-free zone that was Hogwarts.


End file.
